I've been watching a lot of Charmed lately and that is besides the point. Can you go to an AA meeting for this sort of thing? I have no clue, but I just needed to write because I'm literally the most excited person for this story. I just hope that some of you will get excited seeing my writing get updated. Because I do love writing this. This is something I've never done before, it's out of my box, and I'm enjoying it.
I hope you enjoy it as well!
Oh, right! Thank you to the people who left reviews! I'm still trying to understand how this site works. :-)
CHAPTER ONE
OOO
The room is small, beige and quite quaint. There were already stacks of written on parchment and a quill resting in its ink. The large desk reminded her of her dressers at home – cherry wood oak – and the smell of patchouli and sunflower filled her nostrils as she grazed her thumb across the top of a beautifully sculpted teacup.
A window was open and just beyond the trees, that were the Forbidden Forest, you could see the sun setting just behind the horizon. It was beautiful. The clouds were pink and orange and a hue of blue was transparent as the sky filled with bright yellows and gorgeous oranges and hypnotizing pinks.
Hermione stirred the delicately intricate spoon in her cup, the caramel color of her tea swirling in circles like a small tsunami, taking notice of her surroundings – of all the paintings and pictures and the frame that held Albus Dumbledore just above the Headmistress's head.
A grin formed on Hermione's lips as she moved a lose strand of hair behind her ear. She felt at ease here, smelling the incense, and all her worries seemed to disappear. She was finally back at a home where she truly belonged.
Professor McGonagall put her cup of tea down and pressed her lips together in a tight, small smile. It was warm, to Hermione, it was a smile she hadn't seen ever since Hogwarts had been struck with panic and disarray.
"My dear," The Professor spoke finally after clearing her voice. Behind her, and just above her head, Professor Dumbledore took the liberty of bowing and giving her a smile. "I don't want to take you away from your studies only a few days in the semester. But I must ask you a favor—"
"A favor?" Hermione asked quietly, her eyebrows shooting up.
"Yes, Miss. Granger, a favor." Professor McGonagall was sick, Hermione could tell. She was clearing her voice too much, too quickly. It was hoarse. "It's not a favor that will put you in mortal danger. I'm just asking for a small part of your time for your brilliant mind."
"My…, brilliant mind…, oh, Professor! You flatter me too much." Hermione's cheeks had flushed red and they were burning. "But what do you mean…, a small part of my time?"
"It seems the Ministry wants a few others of the graduating Hogwarts students to write a piece on their time here at Hogwarts." She answered back, her thumbs running against the edge of her fine china. "I've brought you here today so I can kindly ask you to write a paper on your time here as well, the good and the bad. Although I don't truly believe things are always black and white."
Hermione's mind backtracked when t started coming up with a thousand questions a minute. It was horrible and it caused an irritating pulse to throb at the side of her temple. She rubbed it, trying to soothe it, trying to calm the irritation that was threatening to give her a migraine. But it ached and it started running down her skull and to her neck. She rubbed the nape of her neck and closed her eyes tightly.
Opening her eyes again, she saw a glint of worry pass through the Headmistress' eyes.
"Professor," Hermione's voice was quiet, and a bit shy. She was never forthcoming about her adventures, the events that happened at Hogwarts. They were strictly her memories. "What is it that you want me to write about?"
Minerva McGonagall stayed quiet for a few moments, clearly deliberating, Hermione took notice. The old Professor swept her hands over her tight, grey bun that had different colored ribbons woven in it and smiled at Hermione who had sat back and quietly sipped at her fast-cooling tea.
"I want you to write whatever you desire, Hermione. After all, it's your paper and your memories from Hogwarts that are up for you to share. Don't be choosey and least of all, don't be picky. That is the least I can ask from you. I would much rather you include the good and the bad. I would hate for you to sugar-coat things."
"I think I got it." She cleared her voice and scratched at her scalp and stood up, "The good – the bad – and no sugar-coating things, there's always an inbetween. I think I could have this done sooner than later."
The Professor waved her hand as if pardoning Hermione and said, "Take the time you need. After all, you have a normal year here at Hogwarts. Enjoy it, Miss. Granger. Surely this will not affect your studies?"
"No, Ma'am." Hermione drawled, kicking her foot at the back of her other heel, her blush oxfords bright against her soft, summer tights. "Thank you, Professor. I won't let you down."
With a goodbye and another gulp of tea, Hermione wiped her mouth and headed down the stairs – only to turn back to say goodbye to her old Headmaster who was already talking intently to the newest Headmistress.
Heel, toe, heel, toe – tap, tap, tap – heel, toe, heel, toe –
She turned down the stairs; her hands running along the fine granite of the enchanted stairs and all the way down to the entrance, opening up the huge doors that led outside, and off she went.
The air seemed sweeter here. Like she was in an apple orchard and was running around aimlessly to find her favorite apples – the red's, and the yellows, and even the granny smith apples tempted her – she didn't have a favorite and that's why it was an aimless search.
But she couldn't pinpoint the exact time she had gotten to the tree, by the lake. She couldn't remember her feet pounding down the sidewalk, down the grass, and give up once she reached her destination. She saw the grass stains on her tights, but she didn't care. All she felt was this dizziness residing in her head, and her heart beat loudly against her chest. It echoed in her ears, throbbed against her wrists, and pounded nosily against her temples. The throbbing in her head was not subsiding; it was getting harder and shorter like a staccato of notes in a piece of music.
She gulped down air and pulled a piece of parchment from her bag she had been carrying.
The wind was blowing lightly and the grass was cool against her skin. Her cloak, sprawled out beneath her, and the wool of her skirt brushed up at her thighs, leaving her legs to gather goose bumps against the creamy flesh.
Staring at the old piece of parchment, she noticed that it was yellowing. It even had stains around the edges that she could only assume was spilled water from one of the boys – from Ron – the day they had come back with exciting news that wasn't very exciting at all. It was in the morning and they had been so excited; and she had been so busy trying to finish an essay for Snape's class. Luckily she was packing her unused paper by the time they got there.
She grimaced.
Harry hadn't even sent a single letter to her. He hadn't checked up on her to see if she was okay; and Ron never would. He hated sending letters, she knew that. But he wouldn't be able to now. She didn't want to remember.
She hated remembering that she wouldn't hear his voice again.
Neither of their voices.
"Looks like McGonagall asked a favor from you to?"
Draco Malfoy looked handsome; his eyes were sparkling – just like the day in that St. Mungo's room. He was wearing a white shirt with long sleeves, and a Slytherin green tie lose around his neck and had his book bag over one shoulder while he carried a Divination textbook. Both sleeves were rolled down.
"Did she offer you tea as well and give you the whole big speech about how things aren't always black and white?"
"No," She said, staring at him. "Not the black and white speech that she gave you."
He put his bag down, right beside her and leaned against the tree. His skin was shining, even as the sun was going down and she was reminded of Harry for a brief, minuscule moment. Her breath hitched and she looked down at her legs, looking at her pasty white thighs that seemed much bigger than other girls. She ran her fingers over them, absentmindedly, and Draco cleared his voice.
"Want to know why?" He asked amusement in his voice.
She played along but stared at the black lake; the giant squid even welcomed her by pointing out one of its tentacles and pulled down a bird that was flying just above it. Even the lake wanted the sunset to be reflected against it, as if welcoming the sun's warmth – as if it was getting ready for a chilled night.
"Why didn't she give me the speech, Malfoy?"
"The answer, dear Granger, is that because it's simply you."
"What do you mean simply me?" She cocked her head, crossing her arms over her chest. Even then she could feel her skirt brush up against her thighs again. She shuddered and quickly let her arms fall to her sides. "Enlighten me, Malfoy."
"Like right or wrong, Granger." He said and shrugged, "You always do the right things. You're predictable."
"Like you always do the wrong things?" She countered, looking up at him. "You're predictable."
"But again, things aren't always black and white." He sat down beside her, not very close – but still close enough to make her scar itch. "I guess she doesn't want things from one radical from another. She wants an inbetween, from what I can tell."
"I don't always do the right things, you know." She admitted quietly, after time to think carefully about her words. She stayed quiet for another moment and cocked her head to look at him. He was listening and, truthfully, she didn't want to continue. She didn't know why she did. "Sometimes I say the wrong things at the wrong times; and do the wrong things at terrible times. I'm an awful liar and – and if I could turn back time I would."
"Where would you go?" He asked suddenly, and as if he knew better he cleared his voice and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "If you could, I mean."
She cleared her voice and sucked in her bottom lip, her brows furrowing. "Why are you here?"
"I don't know." He admitted carefully, standing up and gazed down at her. His skin was chilled now that the sun had gone down and twilight set upon them. He cleared his voice and grabbed his bag, "Don't know why I'm wasting time hanging 'round you."
Before he could take more than a few steps away from her, she stood up and grabbed her bag.
"Do you know what I would do, Malfoy?" She yelled to him.
He didn't want to stop walking.
He didn't want to listen to her voice. He didn't want to listen to her talk.
But he was paralyzed, suddenly. He couldn't move.
"Enlighten me, for this brief moment." Draco snarled smugly, "What could Hermione Granger possibly want to do if she had the ability to go back in time?"
She grinned sarcastically at him, the words at the tip of her tongue. "I want Voldemort to roll over in his grave, that sadistic bastard. We've all had something taken because of him. That much you know."
He winced at the name, looking at her bewildered and questioned her sanity at this very moment. He didn't dare answer, he didn't want to. If that made him a coward, he was in fact – a coward. Malfoy quickly turned on his heel, muttering a goodbye and finally sprinting up the hill away from Hermione Granger who was left alone.
Hermione had wanted to be alone, in the first place. Even when Malfoy was here and was persistent to get a rise from her. But now, that he was gone – she was alone. Not like she cared about him, no. She wouldn't be able to care about him after everything she's gone through from people with that – the Dark mark – on his forearm.
Her sanity was marked on her wrist. Imprinted, scarred – mudblood, mudblood, mudblood – she had muddy blood, dirty blood. She didn't belong in a place like the Malfoy's Manor. Why had it been so ironic – someone with such pureblood had been willing to spill the dirtiest of bloods on the floor of one the most prestigious?
But in Malfoy's case, that mark, that fowl, awful mark was a sense of pride, of entitlement.
So why was Hermione not able to differentiate the two now? Obviously she knew better. She knew a lot of things. She convinced herself of a lot of things.
She was alone.
Eerily, and drastically alone. No one was around. No voices, no static from electrical circuits. The water, in the lake, had come to a standstill. The wind stopped blowing. There was not even a single rustle coming from the tree just above her.
She stood still, straining to hear, straining to listen.
It was so goddamn quiet and she couldn't figure out why she hated it so goddamn much.